


such great heights (come down now)

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 34 OF PARTIZAN, discussion of death/being dead, it's not graphic or a major element but i feel like it's enough to warn for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26696014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: How strange, to have people serve you so willingly. And to think, all she had to do to get it was to die.
Relationships: background clem/gucci - Relationship
Kudos: 12





	such great heights (come down now)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FIC CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR PARTIZAN EPISODE 34!!!!!
> 
> I cannot believe I put off writing a 'clem is the witch in glass' fic because I thought it was too self indulgent and then partizan 34 came out and looked me directly in the eyes and made it canon.

Clem had woken on a distant shore, waterlogged and battered and no longer alive. Or, not alive in the way that she had been before, at any rate.

Her body didn’t hurt but she could feel where it  _ should _ have, where it would have if she was as she was before. Her vision was blurry, the shape of the world around her murky and indistinct, not helped by the slowly fading red light as Partizan faded into night. She felt as though she was still seeing the world from underwater.

She took her first miraculous, unbelievable breath, slowly rolling herself onto her back, to look up at the darkening sky above her. It looked the same as it had before. How strange for it to be unchanged. How absurd. She almost wanted to laugh but her breath felt stuck in her throat.

Clem pushed herself up, looking down at her body. Her clothes were ragged and soaked through but otherwise clean. Despite everything she was only missing a single shoe. She wiggled her toes, the sensation of movement muted. Her skin was a little paler, perhaps, but not noticeably so. Her time in the water had washed away the blood.  _ Her  _ blood.

There had been quite a lot of it, in the end. How odd to see it gone.

She lifted a hand, looking down at the blurred, white shape of her fingers, feeling her muscles flex, the movement only a little stiff. The corner of her mouth twitched, the laughter bubbling in her chest remaining unreleased. How absolutely absurd, to move at all.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, feeling the ache in her muscles. It distantly reminded her of the deep ache she’d felt after long-ago rowing championships, the exhaustion left in her body after the adrenaline had faded. She could feel the gravity, holding her onto the earth below her, grounding her, pulling her down, making her feel the effort of every step.

It was difficult to tell where exactly she was. Clem rubbed at her eyes but the world around her remained stubbornly out of focus. Annoying, but not an untenable price to pay, considering… well. Coming back from the dead. Clem looked down at her hands again, flexing her fingers, feeling her toes wiggle in the sand.

A breeze blew in, wafting the scent of sage towards her. Clem looked up, squinting, as though that would help her make out her surroundings. There was a shape in the distance, something too structured to be a rock face or a forest. It had the look of a city to it, the glint off one of the tall towers drawing her towards it.

The scent grew stronger as she made her way through the cluster of bushes that grew along the sand dunes. She could feel the drag of the stems against her wet clothing, as though the plants themselves were trying to pull her back. Clem pressed forward, one slow step after another, stumbling as plants wiggled underfoot. She stopped still, watching them as they slithered, curling close to her and then away.

Perhaps Partizan was not the same as she had left it, then. A new world for her new self.

She reached the edge of the city, feeling along the ragged metal edge of it. It had not escaped the war unscathed any more than she had, it seemed. Clem pulled herself up, the plants shifting underneath her, pressing her upwards.

She looked back, half expecting to see a humanoid shape, but the blurry shape of the sage looked ordinary enough, waving in the breeze. She felt a stem curl around her ankle for a moment and then release her. Clem swallowed, her throat working as she tried to form words. The act of speaking felt exhausting, her voice no more than a whisper. 

“Thank you.”

There was no response from the plants, but a chime sounded, deep in the city, calling her forwards again. Clem made her way towards the noise, one hand on the cracked walls to help her keep her footing. She turned one corner and then another, frowning at the familiarity of the pattern of the corridors. The twist to them had the feeling of the Winter Palace to it, but if that had been the case then the next room would have been-

The throne room.

It was empty - or, no, not completely. One of the sage plants that grew along the sand dunes had sprouted through the middle of the floor, filling the room with the scent of sage. Clem stepped closer, crouching down to better see the plant, reaching out to touch a finger to the small purple flowers.

The plant reached back.

It was around her before she could react, twining itself over her face, forcing her into darkness. She fell backwards, her nails digging into the stems of the plant, but it was of no use. She could feel the tendrils pressing against her, her eyes stinging, burning, as the sage pressed its way inside. Her voice was too ragged to scream, the sound little more than a rasp as the sage tightened its grip around her, curling under her skin.

She wasn’t sure how long it was before the plant began to still, its grip loosening enough that she could draw breath again. The pain of it has lessened to a dull ache, barely more than a pressure against her eyes. Clem raised a shaking hand to touch her face, feeling the gentle movement of the leaves against her skin. The smell of sage filled her lungs, a wave of dizziness washing over her.

The ground shuddered beneath her and Clem cried out again, pulling herself up and stumbling blindly towards the wall, feeling for the window. A cool breeze hit her face as she threw it open, the plants around her eyes trembling against her and making Clem gasp as colours sparked under her eyelids, swirling together until they formed a purple-tinged landscape. A half-ruined city below her, lifting itself off from the ground, the shore below them getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared under the clouds.

Clem gasped, gripping the windowsill tight.

A bell chimed, the sound not from the bell towers outside but from inside Clem’s own mind. She stumbled backwards, her hand going to her forehead.

_ We have almost met before _ , whispered a voice inside her head, a voice that was not her own,  _ there is no reason to fear. _

Clem took a breath, steadying herself. “Who are you?”

_ Past _ , whispered the voice,  _ You have been looking for me for a long time _ .

A vision swam in Clem’s mind, of the first time she had been allowed inside the throne room at Cruciat. The people in her memory were blurred but the throne stood in stark focus, drawing her in, the seed of an idea beginning to grow in her young mind. The vision faded, replaced by her sight through the sage, the plant that had sprouted through the floor growing and twisting, it’s stems hardening until it had made itself into a mirror image of the throne in her memory.

Clem reached out, flinching back as her fingers touched solid wood. Slowly, she reached out again, her breath quickening as she felt the throne under her hands.

_ Just as it was _ , said Past.

Clem felt a tear slide down her cheek, hurriedly brushing it away before it could be seen under the mask of sage. She swallowed, her throat aching sharply as she traced her hands over the polished-smooth arms of the throne. She didn’t sit in it, too afraid it would disappear if she so much as looked away from it.

The bell tower chimed, shaking her from her daze and bringing her attention back to the window, where a battle below raged on. Even from this great height, she could see where those who had fallen were left behind in the heat of battle, their companions unable to reach them even if they cared to. Their voices echoed, magnified by the spires of Past, pulling at her.

She had made much same sound, as she'd been pulled under the waves.

Clem felt an ache in her throat, one hand reflexively reaching out through the window towards them. She felt Past press against her mind, not solid but warm, like stepping into a sunbeam.

_ I know what it is to be left. _

Clem swallowed, the ache in her throat making it too hard to speak.

They began to lower, the city settling on the ridge above the battle. Clem could see, through the sage, the path to take, guiding her down towards the battlefield, walking through the trenches in the ground the mechs had made. Her skirt gathered mud as she walked, the dirt sticking easily to the still-damp fabric.

There was a figure lying sprawled on the ground in front of her. They were unmoving now but she could see where they  _ had _ been moving, where air and life had pulsed through their body. She could feel Past press against her mind, weakly where the distance stretched between them but enough to guide her hand to touch their cheek. Her fingertips tingled at the contact.

Strange jagged rocks sprouted in the earth around him, twisting to fit inside the places torn by battle, replacing their feet, the side of his head. Clem watched as their breath returned, waiting until their new face turned towards her. She helped them to their feet, barely listening to their half-formed questions. She gestured behind her, to where Past waited. The path in front of her was illuminated again, calling her towards another.

There were twelve, that first night.

Not all were truly gone, but most were close enough to it that they could feel the pull of it, before she batted death’s hand away and guided them to Past. She didn’t speak, only nodding to them as the city began to rise, returning to the throne room.

There were clean clothes draped over the arm of the throne, a simple white shirt and black skirt. A door she was certain had not been there before was half-open, leading her to a small, plain bathroom. She bathed quickly, watching through the sage as the mud and salt flaked from her skin and disappeared into the water.

She stepped back into the throne room after she had dressed, touching the back of the throne as she moved past it to the window. She could feel Past speaking to the others, like the low murmur of voices in the next room. She could feel the others, too, as they wandered the city, the distant sensation of their wonder, warm and comforting.

_ They look for their old desires _ , said Past.

Clem swallowed, reaching for her old political tone and not quite reaching it. “I… I can understand the impulse. But we must move forward.”

_ Not necessarily. _

Clem glanced at the throne behind her.

_ The old can become new again _ , said Past,  _ It is just a matter of how you go about it. _

The first figure she had touched came to see her, the bismuth of his face glittering in the sunlight. He didn't speak as she turned towards him. Clem gestured beside herself at the windowsill, stepping neatly to the side to give him room as he approached. They watched the clouds pass by for a few moments together. She could see flashes of light through the clouds, signalling another battle below them. She could hear it too, not the battle itself but the people, their whispers loud in her ears.

"The battle looks smaller from up here," said the Figure, at last.

Clem nodded.

They glanced at her. "I imagine a single person looks even smaller.”

She felt Past begin to lower underneath her, the cries of battle sharpening. She could make out individual voices now - here, a prayer, there, a whispered promise. Last words all.

"Not so small that they cannot be noticed," said Clem. 

Clem took a deep breath, stepping forward to sit, finally, on the throne. She felt no different than before. It was not a particularly comfortable chair.

The Figure in Bismuth stepped to stand beside the throne, looking towards her. “We’re landing soon, aren’t we?”

Clem nodded, her voice rough as it scraped from her throat. “Yes. There will be more. Someday, there may be many.”

The Figure considered her for a moment. “We’re here to help, you know, we- we’re alive again, because of you.”

_ Their old desires _ , said Past, ruefully.

Clem swallowed. “I don’t need you to fight. Not yet, at least.”

The next time there was twenty three. Then thirty. Then almost fifty. Her new black skirt hid the dirt and blood of the battlefield much better.

Sometimes they arrived as mechs fired overhead, other times they came well after the battle was over. So many had fallen, forgotten, into the dirt of Partizan, as far from people’s memories as she had been when she fell from Fort Icebreaker. It felt right to offer her hand to them, to guide them as she had been guided, into the shining city of Past.

The city held them all, safe above the clouds. Far enough away that it took a while for Clem’s new name to reach her.

She laughed, when she heard it. How strange, to be thought so powerful. How strange, to be feared. The people she brought back with her did not fear her. Perhaps once you had died, you gained a different perspective on things. She certainly had. 

When she closed her eyes and thought of victory, she no longer saw parades and cheering crowds. Now, instead, she wished for the soft, distant sensations of those who wandered Past, their joy and wonder and sadness at their new life trickling back to her.

How strange, to have people serve you so willingly.

And to think, all she had to do to get it was to die.

Other news did not take as long to reach her, although perhaps it was some small remaining vanity that compelled her to keep an eye on her own funeral. That Sovereign Immunity was there, almost causing disaster, flt like it so fit with the progression of her life that she almost wished it had been a scheduled part of her public funeral event. It was certainly more truthful of her life as it had been than any speech given during the service.

The other events of that day were more complicated. She considered the news for a long moment, her face turned towards the window, watching the distant clouds. She hadn’t particularly liked Valence, and they had not particularly liked her, but she respected the end that they had chosen for themselves. It was certainly one she could understand, one that, even if it could not stop events already in motion, would undoubtedly stop future plans, future harm, that Crysanth had yet to enact.

There was to be a funeral. She could feel it, now, the faint prickle of grief spouting from below, spreading out across the surface of Partizan as the news made its way through Milenium Break.

_ You wish to see them again _ , said Past.

“Condolences would be appropriate,” said Clem.

Her voice was still rough, it’s volume and strength lost to the sea. Even that was less annoying to her than it would have been, before. She had no need to shout to be heard, these days. Those who followed her strained to hear her voice, carefully attentive to her words. Past could hear her even when she couldn’t manage to speak aloud.

She could feel Past's thoughtful hum, considering. It was her throne room, but it was still their city.

“A representative, to start,” said Clem, and called for the Figure in Bismuth.

It went about as well as she would have expected. She was supposed to be dead, after all.

Millenium Break headquarters were easy enough to find, and the inside of them was close to stepping into a memory. For a moment, she felt as though the ground rolled underfoot, the smell of sea air threading through the scent of sage. Clem shook herself, Fort Icebreaker retreating from her mind, bringing her back to the present.

A tall Talonite approached her, followed by the Figure in Bismuth. The Figure nodded to her and she inclined her head in return, accepting his assessment before she turned to the Talonite. 

“May I present Kalar Anakalar, Break Lieutenant,” said The Figure.

Clem inclined her head again, holding her shoulders straight as he looked her over. It was easier, now, to hold herself still under examination. His eyes flicked to the two guards she had brought with her - a former Orion mechanic with crystalline arms and a former Apostalisian pilot who’s scales had been repaired by flakes of glittering glass, both carrying bunches of poppies and sage. She gestured towards the front of the room, where other bouquets and offersings had been laid.

Millie stood towards the front, her hand on Broun’s arm. Clem curled her toes in her boots, nodding to them in greeting. A branched Clem didn’t recognise stepped forward, blocking her view, bringing her attention back to her guards.

They nodded, following her wordless instruction. Clem let her eyes linger on them, watching as the funeral crowd parted before them. There was a now-familiar tightness in her throat at the ease of which they obeyed her. Before she had had to scream for obedience, and now that she barely had a voice she had only to gesture to be heard.

Kalar tilted his head, bringing her attention back to him. "Clementine Kesh. I've heard about you."

"Not really," said Clem, "Nobody's really heard about me anymore. Not as I am."

"Oh yeah?"

She could see the commotion at the doorway, a flash of red behind Sovereign Immunity. The sage around her eyes twitched, curling deeper and spiking pain between her eyes for a moment before it relaxed. She curled her hands, resisting the urge to touch her fingers to the sage.

"Yes," says Clem distractedly, "it's been rather freeing, to start again. I suppose that's a benefit of dying."

Kalar laughed, his posture relaxed, and Clem felt herself smile. The expression felt much easier on her face than the last time she was in Milenium Break controlled space.

She could feel The Figure in Bismuth turn, announcing in his own way the arrival of Sovereign and Gucci. Clem clasped her hands behind her back, an old habit she rarely had to indulge in since her death. Seeing them must have made her body feel nostalgic.

Sovereign stepped towards her and The Figure copied the motion, moving to step in between them. She raised her hand, stopping them both - The Figure by obedience and Sovereign in apparent shock. She almost smiled again before she swallowed the expression down. Sovereign did not look to be in the right temperament for her to show joy.

Behind him was Gucci, her eyes wide. She was dressed more for a board meeting than a funeral, her body tinged in a purple glow through the sage. Her eyes didn’t leave Clem’s face. Gucci’s fingers curled at her side and then uncurled, catching Clem’s attention - Gucci’s nails were painted orange and blue. Clem suddenly felt glad for the sage mask, her chest tight.

Past pressed against the back of her mind, their touch weak but solid enough to allow her to draw breath again. It was not as it was before.  _ She _ was not as she was before.

“Hello again,” says Clem softly. Her voice, though ragged, did not waver and for that she was thankful.

“How are- You- What are you  _ doing _ here?” Sovereign Immunity spluttered.

“I came to offer my condolences,” said Clem.

“Your  _ condolences _ ?” said Sovereign, “You’re dead, you can’t be- you-”

Clem waited. So many things about her new life were strange to her, but having Sovereign Immunity on the back foot of a conversation was a pleasure she never thought that she would have.

“How?” said Gucci.

Her voice was quieter even than Clem’s, but Clem had gotten very good at hearing whispers amid the louder sounds of battle, and it would be a lie to pretend she hadn’t been waiting for Gucci to speak.

Clem thought for a moment. “I died, and then I woke up.”

“Surely it’s a much longer story than that,” said Gucci.

“It is,” said Clem, “But it’s hardly relevant.”

“Relevant to what?” said Gucci.

“To our discussion.”

“I didn’t know we were having one,” said Gucci.

“We are,” said Clem, “And we will be, to negotiate.”

Sovereign stilled. “Negotiate what?”

Clem kept her eyes on Gucci. “My offer of aid.”

Gucci hid her surprise much better than Sovereign but not by much. Clem allowed herself a moment of smugness at seeing Gucci out of practise at being surprised.

“You, offering to help?” said Sovereign, “You, Clementine Kesh?”

“That’s no longer my name, really,” said Clem, “But yes. It seems as though you need it.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere a little more... private,” said Gucci.

Clem nodded, motioning her guards back towards her with a tilt of her head. She let herself be led, trying not to feel too pleased about Sovereign’s unease at her guards. The room Gucci led them to was small and unassuming, but it had a window. Clem looked out at the thin sliver of ocean, pretending not to hear the whispered conversation of Gucci and Sovereign behind her.

The Figure in Bismuth stepped beside her, a reassuring presence. “It does not seem that they were properly prepared for your visit.”

Clem’s lips quirked upwards. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

Sovereign cleared his throat. “Perhaps your… bodyguards could wait outside,”

Both guards turned their attention to her. Clem nodded, putting a hand on The Figure’s arm. They stilled.

“I would prefer to keep one with me,” said Clem.

Sovereign opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Fine.”

“Please, wait outside,” said Clem.

They nodded to her, dissapereing into the corridor.

“The quiet type, huh?” said Sovereign.

Clem pressed her tongue to her teeth to stop herself from speaking. She couldn’t waste her words sniping at him, no matter how satisfying it would be to do so.

“Please,” said Gucci, “take a seat?”

Clem did, watching Gucci’s expression carefully. It was more guarded than it had been when they'd last seen each other but she could see the emotion underneath, given away in the twitch of an eyebrow, the slight flare of Gucci’s nostrils. Gucci took a slow breath in, the movement of it careful, reminding Clem of a lifetime ago, moments before rowing competitions and music recitals. Nerves, hidden under a breath.

Sovereign, for his part, flicked his gaze between Clem and the Figure, his posture tense, ready for flight. Clem wondered how far away his mech was from here, how long it would take for Sovereign to call it to him. She wondered if Sovereign was trying to calculate it in the moment, preparing for the worst. Her worst.

“I suppose I should apologise,” said Clem, finally. “Rude of me, to drop by without an invitation.”

Gucci’s still expression broke and she huffed a laugh, scrubbing a hand over her face. “You really- You really never stop surprising me.” She paused. “You want to offer Milenium Break aid. What would that entail, exactly?”

“Battlefield assistance,” said Clem.

“In the form of…?”

“Soldiers,” said Clem.

“We have those already,” said Sovereign.

“Not like mine,” said Clem.

Sovereign’s gaze flicked to The Figure. “You may be right about that. And they would be willing to fight on our behalf?”

“Many of the fallen wish to return to the battle,” said Clem. She paused, searching for the words. “They… it would offer them peace.”

Gucci gave her a look. “You have something else though. Something big enough that you came all this way to make the offer.”

Past curled against the back of her mind, giving their silent permission. It had been their idea, after all.

The corner of Clem’s mouth twitched. “I do. I can also offer you… the aid of a Divine.”

Gucci’s eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. “I… suppose that explains some things.” She paused. “Clem… I have to say, it is… as surprising as it is to see you, it’s even more surprising to see you because you’re making this offer.”

A long-forgotten irritation sparked in Clem’s chest. “What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean? I was part of this before, why  _ wouldn’t _ I want to help?”

“You were,” said Sovereign, “But you were never very… helpful.”

Clem huffed a breath. “I think I was, I just- it was harder.”

“You were in charge,” said Sovereign, “How was that  _ harder _ ?”

Clem thought, sharply, of every meeting they had been in together where people’s eyes went to Sovereign before she yelled loud enough to catch their attention.

“I was only in charge in name, and then only briefly,” said Clem, “there were not a lot of people who wanted to listen to Clementine Kesh. But people listen to the Witch in Glass. I can- it lets me  _ do _ things now.”

Sovereign’s eyes flicked back to The Figure. “It certainly does. Bringing people back from the dead is quite the party trick.”

“It’s-” Clem huffed. “That’s not what I- it’s different, it’s…”

The words died in her throat. Past ghosted a hand against the back of her mind, bringing with it the sensation of sun shining on the bell towers and spires of their city, the sensation of those wandering its streets, waiting for her return.

“I’m doing something different,” finished Clem.

“Grave robbing?”

“They aren’t in graves any more than I was,” said Clem, “I don’t take them unless they’re- discarded.”

Sovereign wrinkled her nose, irritation sparking enough to give Clem voice.

“It happens more than you think,” said Clem, “On battlefields. Or in the ocean.”

Sovereign dropped his gaze, standing up quickly and turning towards Gucci. “Right, well, this is- I’ll go round up the rest of the council. We’ll want to- I mean, a quick decision here is probably for the best.”

“Sure,” said Gucci.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the corridor outside. In the silence, Clem could hear the distant war, the people left in the icy mud as the front line crept away from them. She flexed her toes, trying to get some warmth back into them.

Gucci waited until the sound had faded before she spoke. “I didn’t  _ forget  _ you, Clem, I-” She lowered her voice. “I reported you  _ missing _ , until we- until we pieced it together, from the security tapes.”

Gucci pulsed in Clem’s vision as the sage twitched, brought alive by Gucci’s grief. Clem swallowed.

“You didn’t go to my funeral.”

“You think your mother would have allowed it?” countered Gucci, “And besides, as you said, you weren’t really there.”

Clem took a breath, considering her for a moment. “It wasn’t a particularly good funeral.”

Gucci huffed a laugh. “No, it wasn’t.” She pressed her lips together. “I- We still have a council. I can’t speak for all of MiIenium Break.”

Clem nodded. “The Figure in Bismuth can carry your response to me.”

“You can’t stay?”

“I have… work to do,” said Clem.

Something not close enough to a smile twisted Gucci’s mouth. “I suppose there are lots of battlefields on Partizan.”

“Yes,” said Clem, as she stood, “Something like that.”

The whispered prayers and rattling breaths reached out to her from across Partizan’s surface, itching under her skin.

“Clem?” said Gucci, putting a hand on Clem’s arm.

Clem flinched at the contact and Gucci pulled her hand away.

“Sorry, I-” Gucci pressed her lips together. “I shouldn’t- Things are different now. I shouldn’t assume.”

“It’s fine,” said Clem, “I was- I was thinking about the work to be done, I suppose.”

A smile flickered across Gucci’s face. She must feel the expression, because she added, “Sorry, I just- I guess you just keep surprising me.” Her smile returned in earnest, just a little, as though she were still trying to hide it. “I’m glad that you can still do that. I- I’m glad you’re still here to do that.”

Clem could feel the small flowers bloom across her eyes. She could suppress a smile, but she hadn't quite figured out how to stop the sage giving her away just yet.

Her words were quieter than they were before, but honest and steady. “I’m glad I can too.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> just as a little bonus: my original notes for this, which I wrote before I listened to ep 34 and liked but couldn't fit into the actual fic were:  
> Clem, rising from the ocean to take those who have fallen, in rescue and for revenge, dependent on their cries. She will build her own army now, of those who have fallen as she fell, and she will tear her throne back from the soil of Partizan.
> 
> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


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